Affazolat
by XLadySnowX
Summary: What would happen if, when Daenerys was presented to Khal Drogo in Pentos, the Dothraki Warlord decided he'd rather have the Targaryen Prince instead? Drogo/Viserys, slash, AU. No longer a one-shot!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Affazolat  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Game of Thrones AU**  
>Pairing(s): <strong>Drogo/Viserys**  
>Summary: <strong>What would happen if, when Daenerys was presented to Khal Drogo in Pentos, the Dothraki warlord decided he'd rather have the Targaryen Prince instead? Drogo/Viserys, slash, AU. **  
>RatingWarning: **Pretty mild for now – I'd give it a T, just to be safe. Swear words, mostly, but if I continue it, it's likely more sexual content will show up in future XD **  
>Timeline: <strong>AU Season 1 of Game of Thrones.**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own GoT, it belongs to George R. R. Martin. I'm just playing with the characters for my sick entertainment, and obviously, no profit is being made from this story!**  
>Author's Note: <strong>I'll start this off by saying… there isn't nearly enough Viserys-centric fics on this site. Seriously, he's an ass, but a total blast to write! :D I got the inspiration for this on tumblr where someone mentioned they wanted a slashy Drogo/Viserys fic that featured him replacing Dany as the Khal's "bride" – hence the title, "Affazolat" (which is Dothraki for "to replace"; I'm not entirely happy with it but I couldn't really think of anything else) XD It can either remain as a one-shot, or if people like it enough and are interested, I'll consider continuing it. Otherwise, review and enjoy!  
>By the way, I'm not entirely certain on the phrasing for <em>zhavvorsa khalakka <em>– I'm not sure if "khalakka" is "prince" in general or refers strictly to the son of a Khal, so you'll have to bear with me there, because I truly had no idea!  
>PPS – totally made up the stuff about the Khal's concubines and whatnot for story purposes. Just so we're clear, I have no idea if that actually happens in canon, but anyway!<p>

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"He _what?_"

Viserys wasn't certain he'd heard the magister correctly. Of all the things that could've possibly gone wrong that afternoon, he hadn't anticipated this.

Magister Illyrio looked uncomfortable. "He… your Grace, he said…"

"I heard you the first time!" The prince snapped irritably, pacing back and forth in the bedroom he occupied in the Magister's mansion. Daenerys was nowhere to be seen, and for that, she was lucky. Although the Khal's rejection of her had nothing to do with her, she was still liable to wake the dragon if she was near him at present time. "Are you sure that's what he said? Because if I find out you're _lying _to me –"

"It's the Gods honest truth, your Grace!" Illyrio held his hands up defensively. "I would not dream of lying to you. I do not jest either."

"Did… did he say _why?_" Viserys couldn't even muster enough energy to be truly angry. He was beyond rage; he was _terrified._

"He said… the girl was lovely enough… but it was the dragon prince who _appealed_ to him more."

The words made Viserys shiver. He remembered the way the Khal's eyes only spent a few seconds on Dany before they rose and met his. He baulked, wary of the way the Dothraki warlord's eyes stayed on him, and he could feel the flustered impatience build up inside him.

_Look at her! _He wanted to scream at him. _She's what you've come for, you stupid savage!_

But the Khal didn't look at Daenerys again, and after he rode away, his bloodriders close behind him, Viserys had been certain that the plan had failed. He'd been full of ire, and it was even worse than usual, especially since he couldn't blame his sister for it. This time it was the _Dothraki's _fault. Instead of cursing his frightened and confused little sister like she expected him to, he'd hidden up in his room for hours, muttering to himself about how Dany probably wasn't "horsey" enough for him.

And then the Magister arrived in his room after speaking to the Khal and told him even _worse_ news. The plan hadn't been a total failure… but it certainly hadn't worked out as he'd expected it to. Drogo didn't want Daenerys, Illyrio claimed.

Khal Drogo wanted _him _instead.

"He realizes I intend to be _king, _I trust?" Viserys hissed, on the verge of pulling his hair out from sheer frustration. _This is madness._ "A king needs a _queen. _A king needs _heirs._ A king cannot be a horselord's _little bitch._"

"Your Grace…" Illyrio began carefully. "Nobody says you _have _to stay married to him. When you retake your throne, you will have enough forces to kill off the Dothraki you brought with you, and none would be brave enough to cross the sea they fear so irrationally again to go to war with an entire country."

"Why the hell would he even want to wed another _man?_" Viserys continued as if the Magister hadn't spoken. He couldn't wrap his head around Dothraki logic. "Isn't he some kind of King of the Savages, himself? He realizes that even if I was to agree to such _insanity _– and I'm by no means saying that I _am _– I cannot produce any _heirs _for him." He gestured to his slim, but very male, frame. "_Obviously._"

"A Khal's title is not _always_ hereditary. And if he wants sons to carry on his legacy, he can simply have children with other Dothraki females. His spouse, however, is a much more important figurehead than any concubines who may bear his children. And a Khal is able to make a "consort" out of whomever he chooses, be it male or female. They are much more… open-minded, about such things."

Biting his bottom lip, the prince scratched the back of his head. "Do you truly believe your plan would work?" He asked. "About double-crossing the Dothraki?"

The older man nodded vigorously, the heavy jewellery he wore shaking noisily as he did. "Absolutely, your Grace. You've already waited this long for your throne. What are a few more months, with this kind of guarantee?"

"The difference is, for the last seventeen years, I didn't have some horse king wanting to shove his cock in me." The dragon prince snarled, raking his fingers through his white hair. "Try again." He ordered the Magister firmly, after a few more seconds of quiet thought. "Offer him Daenerys again, and see what happens. Perhaps he misunderstood the first time."

Illyrio opened his mouth to argue, but Viserys fixed him with a hard, cold stare that convinced him not to. The Magister gave him a low bow, and exited the room as swiftly as he came. Viserys fell onto his bed with an aggravated sigh, hoping that this was some kind of nightmare his sick mind conjured up to torment him with in his sleep, and that he would wake soon.

Alas, this was not the case. When he awoke some time later, he found his sister in his room, standing by the open window and gazing out of it thoughtfully. She was still wearing the lilac dress from this morning. He sat up slowly, and she looked over at him, startled by the sudden movement.

"What are you doing in here?" He mumbled, frowning at her.

"Magister Illyrio came back while you were still asleep. He left again… but he wanted me to tell you that he spoke to… _him_."

Viserys eagerly sat up further. "And? What did he say?"

"He said that he approached the Khal again and attempted to persuade him to… take me as a bride. Illyrio told me that he just shook his head and said only two words in response."

"Which were?" He pressed, gritting his teeth.

"_Zhavvorsa khalakka_." She spoke, soft as a whisper.

Viserys shook his head incredulously. "Which means…?"

Dany was silent for a few long moments, her expression indescribable. "_Dragon prince_. It means dragon prince in Dothraki."

Viserys had refused to allow that to be his final answer. He ordered Illyrio to send other men, each more cunning than the last, to bribe the Khal with all sorts of petty treasures in addition to marrying the beautiful Targaryen princess. Each time, he sent the men back, supposedly speaking only the same two words over and over again.

_Zhavvorsa khalakka, zhavvorsa khalakka, zhavvorsa khalakka._

The words _haunted _him, and each day the Khal refused him drove him even madder. When the men Illyrio sent started coming back with broken body parts, Viserys knew he was running out of time, and that the priceless, fragile offer that had been presented to him was beginning to move further and further out of his reach.

He had to think of something, and _quickly._

"What if I spoke to him?" He suggested one afternoon over a plate of lemon cakes and tea. Dany sat a small distance away from him, picking at her cake with no real interest in eating it. Luckily for her, Illyrio was more than happy to eat enough in her stead.

"I don't think that would be wise." He responded, wiping his mouth with a small, flowery handkerchief he produced from his pocket.

"And why not?" Viserys snapped crossly. "You're not exactly being _helpful, _Illyrio."

"I already offered you my council, your Grace." He tucked into another cake. "The Dothraki are not known for their reason or diplomacy. We've tried both, with men who possessed silver tongues capable of charming misers out of their last coins. We have nothing he wants… save for you."

His hands tightened into fists underneath the table, but Viserys forced himself to remain as calm as possible. Dany noticed her brother tense, and subconsciously inched away from him. "_Let – me – talk – to him. _This is not a request, Magister."

Needless to say, the Khal was not pleased about being dragged back to Illyrio's mansion a week later. The irritation he felt was evident on his features, but Viserys was certain it was nothing compared to how _he _felt. He stood beside Dany on the steps, and walked forward only when the Dothraki arrived, pulling their horses to a halt in the same position they had before. Illyrio rushed to their side, casting a worried, sidelong glance at the Targaryen siblings.

Viserys smiled tightly as the Magister spoke to him in Dothraki tongue, his hand resting on Dany's arm. She had her hand over his, gripping it in fear, shivering where she stood as she looked at the Khal. He nudged her sharply in the side, and she stood still. He didn't know what Illyrio was saying, but _damn him, _he'd better be convincing.

Once more, the _whole _time the Magister spoke, Khal Drogo didn't even _look _at him for longer than a few seconds. He didn't even look upon Dany at all. His eyes lingered on Viserys, and stayed there. Sometimes his gaze would wander down his body, and the Targaryen prince had to use every inch of willpower he possessed to keep himself standing still, and resisted the urge to find some way to cover his body from the Dothraki's sight. He felt oddly naked and vulnerable underneath his intense stare and he didn't like it.

Not one – little – bit.

Illyrio must've said something that pissed Drogo off. Before the Magister could finish talking, the Khal snarled and spat on the ground near him. In one fluid, oddly graceful motion, he dismounted his horse, and he was approaching the Targaryens before anybody could stop him. Daenerys made a frightened noise and hid behind her brother, and he didn't move to stop her. Viserys's smile faltered with every step the Khal took towards them.

He stopped exactly a foot away from Viserys, and the dragon prince tried not to flinch. He was not short himself, but Drogo _towered _over him. He was even more intimidating up close. Dany whimpered, her eyelids squeezed shut. Viserys met the Khal's eyes tentatively. He could almost feel the other man's body heat, he was so close.

Whatever he saw on Viserys's face seemed to please him well enough; he _smirked _at him_. _The prince resisted sneering in response. And then the damn savage went and repeated the mantra he'd been saying for the last week, the two words that drove Viserys to edge of madness.

"_Zhavvorsa khalakka."_

Something inside of him snapped. His resolve, perhaps. Nothing was going to persuade this stupid barbarian, he realized. He didn't want Dany, and nothing he could do or say would change his mind. Swallowing his revulsion, Viserys grimaced and felt his palms begin to sweat.

"_Fine._" He spat, his reluctant acquiescence leaving a bad after-taste in his mouth. "I'll _marry_ you. Just get me my _fucking_ crown."

With wide eyes, Illyrio repeated Viserys's surrender in a tongue he would understand (possibly a little more politely), and the smallest hint of a triumphant smile crept onto Khal Drogo's face; the same face that, at present, Viserys wanted to cut off and feed to his horse.

Magister Illyrio's previous words rung clear as a bell inside of his head. _"You've already waited this long for your throne. What are a few more months, with this kind of guarantee?"_

He would marry Khal Drogo, he decided. He would marry the King of the Savages, endure a few months of his _marriage,_ get his Dothraki army, re-take the Iron Throne, and when he was King, he would chop the Khal's head off with a dull sword and stuff it on a pike in King's Landing.

With that mental image in mind, Viserys slowly smiled back at his betrothed.

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Affazolat  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Game of Thrones AU**  
>Pairing(s): <strong>Drogo/Viserys, Jorah/Daenerys**  
>Summary: <strong>What would happen if, when Daenerys was presented to Khal Drogo in Pentos, the Dothraki warlord decided he'd rather have the Targaryen Prince instead? Drogo/Viserys, slash, AU.**  
>RatingWarning: **Bumped to an M! Sexual content in this chapter! Dub-con too! You've been warned! **  
>Timeline: <strong>AU Season 1 of Game of Thrones.**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own GoT, it belongs to George R. R. Martin. I'm just playing with the characters for my sick entertainment, and obviously, no profit is being made from this story!**  
>Author's Note: <strong>Sorry for the late update, but I'm glad you all liked it, and thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, your kind words honestly made my day(s)! I hope you enjoy the chapter and I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks again for your patience! xx

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

**Chapter 2**

Viserys Targaryen hadn't had a happy childhood, but he'd survived. He had enough of a childhood to learn about the fairytales and legends of old; whenever someone bothered to tell him and his sister a tale or two, Viserys always wanted to know about Aegon the Conqueror, and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys, or even about his own father, King Aerys II. There was little he didn't already know about his bloodline, but he enjoyed hearing the tales from the lips of others to remind himself that he and his House were not entirely gone and forgotten.

Other times, to his dismay, Dany wanted to know about more romantic tales, pertaining to clichés where a gallant knight would rescue a princess from the clutches of an evil madman and they would marry and live happily together with their children every day afterwards, until the day of their deaths. Such tales bored Viserys to tears but Daenerys loved them. Her daydreaming about meeting a prince of her own annoyed him to no end. He couldn't see the point in placing such value on and spending so much time thinking about _romance, _when power was _obviously_ more important. He'd tell himself that over and over again, and couldn't begin to fathom why Daenerys found it so difficult to comprehend.

_The Dragon does not need to love of another. _He'd think to himself.

When the day of his own wedding had arrived, the event he'd been dreading all week since he'd agreed to become Khal Drogo's _consort _in the place of his sister, he woke feeling sick and spent the better part of his own personal preparation thinking of the various exit strategies he could make. Could he and Daenerys escape Pentos before their absence was noticed? He snorted.

How… unlikely.

When the thought of running away occurred to him, he almost wanted to slap himself.

_Fool! _His mind cursed him. _You've never been so close to getting your crown. Do not squander this opportunity. Do whatever you must to obtain the throne and the bards will sing songs of your self-sacrifice. _

With that thought in mind, Viserys pressed his lips together in a hard line and walked forward to meet his destiny.

_When they write the history of my reign, they will say it began today. _

The wedding ceremony itself came and went in a blur to Viserys; he blocked most of it out and moved about, stiff and wooden, and did as he was instructed to do. He did note absently that Dothraki weddings were not like the weddings he'd hear about in the old tales or even those in Westeros. It was quicker, and no rings or tokens of affection were exchanged. They didn't even kiss at the end of the ceremony, much to Viserys's relief.

When all was said and done, and Viserys was now the husband of the Khal, the reception – the _true _event, according to Illyrio – began. Like the wedding, the reception took place on the beach, close by the ocean's vast water, and Viserys found himself staring out across the horizon as he sat down beside Drogo. They were perched high on stone steps, surrounded by faceless Dothraki bustling about and eating disgusting foods consisting primarily of raw meats and grasses, dancing wildly to the beating of distant drums. His sister and the Magister sat a few steps down on his left, while Drogo sat to his right, engrossed in the on-goings of the reception. Daenerys kept twitching, her eyes darting around anxiously – crowds made her nervous, they always had. Illyrio was content enough with watching the half-naked dancers and drinking wine to his heart's content.

The dragon prince remained where he was the entire time, stuck in sullen silence and refusing to reciprocate any attempts at conversation that was made with him by his sister or Illyrio. Even his _husband _wasn't interested in talking to him, only his seated bloodriders – not that they could have had much of a conversation if he had the desire to talk to him, given Drogo didn't speak the common tongue and Viserys didn't know a single word of Dothraki.

Well, except for _zhavvorsa khalakka._

From time to time, people would approach the newly-wedded couple and present them with an assortment of gifts. Some made Viserys pull a face; an open cache filled with exotic-coloured snakes in particular. What in seven hells was he supposed to do with _those? _Eat them? Keep them as pets?He looked to Illyrio for an explanation but to his irritation, found nothing. He placed his own cup of wine down on the ground by his feet, his stomach churning and temper rising. He'd thank the presenters of the gifts brusquely, with little to no eye contact, while Drogo just nodded his gratitude.

It felt like the day dragged on for an eternity. Perhaps longer. The only exciting things that happened were the _deaths_. At one point during the ceremony, one of the Dothraki warriors stepped forward, grabbed one of the half-naked dancing females, threw her on the ground and pushed himself deep inside her, taking her then and there in front of everyone. Viserys watched, interested, as another warrior pushed him off and took his place inside the woman; the two fought a short and bloody battle that ended with the second man, the intruder, being disembowelled before the dragon prince's very eyes. The victor cut the man's dark hair and threw it on the ground, and resumed his position behind the prize. Throughout the whole thing, Khal Drogo had smiled in amusement.

"What just happened?" Viserys heard Dany ask Illyrio, her eyes wide with disbelief but averted from the vulgar display in front of her innocent eyes.

"This is a common occurrence, girl." Illyrio told her. "You're not in Westeros, or even any other civilized culture you may be used to. A Dothraki wedding without at least a few deaths is considered a dull affair."

Normally, Viserys might've laughed, but today, nothing was funny to him.

If what Illyrio had claimed was true, Viserys's wedding was notat alltedious, as no less than ten men lost their lives (and limbs, and hair…) in front of him. Some bodies were dragged off, but others were danced around as if they weren't even there at all. Viserys swallowed, and stared back off into the distance, the wind blowing through his silvery hair.

And of course, there were the dragon's eggs he was presented with by Magister Illyrio shortly before the reception came to an end. He'd just finished a short, curt conversation with an exiled knight who pledged himself to his service, Ser Jorah of House Mormont, carrying books containing songs and histories of the Seven Kingdoms, when a few men came forward carrying a large chest. Illyrio stood and eagerly watched the prince's reaction to the gift – he assumed it was from him, then.

Illyrio had them set the cache down at the prince's feet, and smiled up at him through his thick beard. "Your Grace," He said, over the beating of the drums. "I present you these dragon's eggs.

Viserys's eyes widened in disbelief, and Dany made a small noise. There were three eggs, lying side by side against the fine silks inside the box. Drogo looked on closely as Viserys leaned forward to pick one up and inspect it. It was much heavier than it looked; as solid as stone, though the colouring of each egg was so rich and exotic they almost looked to be made of glass instead. The one Viserys had in his grasp was black as the night's sky with splashes of blood-red patterned on its shimmering surface.

_My House's colours. _He thought in childish wonder. The other two were green with bronze flecks and creamy white with gold streaks, respectively. He took his time picking each of them up and turned them around to fully examine them. At one point, Dany had scooted forward, eager to see the cache's contents, and Viserys had almost sneered at her, when he reminded himself that she was a Targaryen as well, and had every right to look upon the dragon's eggs as well. Gingerly, he handed the green egg to her, and Dany looked ready to burst into tears of happiness. She looked at them all as if she were a mother seeing her children after a long absence.

Something inside Viserys panged painfully. He clenched his jaw and looked away from the display. As taken by the eggs as he was, he didn't feel the emotional attachment to them that Dany had instantly formed when her gaze rested upon them. The utter adoration in her eyes was plain for all to see. Perhaps it would come to him as well, but in time? He was slower to warm up to things after all, and Dany trusted and believed far too easily.

He lowered his head, pressing his lips together. _He _was the blood of the Dragon; the heir to the Iron Throne and rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms; though those eggs would forever be dead and dormant in their solidified state, they were rightfully _his._

Yet… why did it already feel as though they were meant for his sister?

Thankfully, they were taken away after Viserys smiled thinly to convey his gratitude to Illyrio. He picked up his previously abandoned cup to toast the Magister. Dany looked crestfallen as the eggs were taken away, but did not protest.

Finally, Khal Drogo stood from his seat, signalling the end of the reception. It was dusk now, and the sun was setting over the horizon, casting a dim, orange glow on their surroundings. The wild beating of the drums halted, as did the commotion of the crowd, and Viserys's breath hitched in his throat.

He knew what would happen next.

Dutifully, he stood and walked as if he were walking to meet his demise. Everyone's eyes were on him; watching him keenly, knowing that soon enough, the Khal and his consort's marriage would be… consummated, for lack of a better term. Viserys tried not to pull a revolted face.

_Consummated, _he repeated to himself, laughing cruelly on the inside. _More like I'm going to be taken like a common whore and made this horse lord's bitch. _He'd had a woman before, from behind. It didn't look pleasant for the woman, and he wasn't badly endowed himself.

If Khal Drogo's stature and virility was anything to go by, Viserys was going to die.

He was led in front of a beautiful white horse. Drogo looked at him expectantly, and he quickly realized that it was a gift from him. He patted the horse's mane, winding his fingers through its silvery hair.

_Hair the same colour as mine._

"Thank you," He said finally, nodding awkwardly at his husband. Drogo made no attempt to indicate that he understood him. Instead, he approached his own horse, a red stallion, and mounted it with well-practised ease. Viserys mounted his own horse, and Daenerys approached his side. She touched his knee timidly.

"Good luck, brother." She said quietly, avoiding eye contact with him.

He wanted to yell at her, his patience reaching its breaking point, but Drogo had already started off without him. Nudging the silver mare in the sides, he galloped after the Khal, leaving the Dothraki people, his sister, and the Magister behind.

They rode for quite some time – in complete silence, naturally. The sun had almost fully set beyond the horizon, and soon, Viserys's eyes adjusted to the dark. If he wasn't in such a sour mood he might've appreciated his surroundings more. He followed Khal Drogo without truly paying attention to where they were going. Instead, he watched the setting sun, and knew that beyond it was where his kingdom lay, waiting anxiously for him.

_It's only a matter of time now._

In a small, grassy clearing by a babbling brook, Drogo stopped. Viserys dismounted and patted the silver mare with uncharacteristic affection. The horse might've been feminine and unassuming in appearance, but she was undeniably sturdy and strong. He was no Dothraki but he could appreciate a good horse. She was an acceptable gift and probably the best he received all day, not counting the dragon eggs.

As his horse grazed nearby, Viserys saw Drogo watching him fixedly, as he always did. When he saw the dragon prince take notice of him, he moved forward with purpose. Viserys stared at him apprehensively as he approached. Instinctively, he took a step backwards. He knew the Khal's intentions; he could see it in his eyes. A large lump formed in the base of the prince's throat.

_Is this really necessary? _He thought petulantly, choosing to look annoyed rather than frightened. _Couldn't he just go back lay with some woman, or his horse even, and leave me be?_

Drogo touched his shoulder, and Viserys blanched hard. His reaction seemed to confuse the other man. He moved his calloused fingers from his shoulder, down his arm, and rested on his hip. He took his time feeling him and his body, and Viserys chose to have his thoughts linger on the Seven Kingdoms and ignore the Khal entirely. He was stiff and unresponsive, no matter where Drogo touched him.

Soon, this irritated his husband immensely. With a sharp exhale of breath and, what Viserys assumed to be a curse, the Khal took the prince's chin in one of his massive hands and smashed his lips against his in a brutal, bruising kiss. Viserys made a very un-princely noise and tried in vain to push him off, but he soon saw his attempts were futile. He then gave up completely and just allowed Drogo to kiss him as he stood motionless. When the savage finally did pull back, Viserys's lips were sore and his whole body felt weak and pathetic. The scowl had not disappeared from the prince's face. Drogo frowned, and touched his swollen bottom lip with surprising gentleness.

"No?" It almost sounded like a question.

Viserys stared at him. "I thought you didn't speak the common tongue." He felt the dragon stir inside him. Either Illyrio or Khal Drogo had been lying to him, and Viserys did not _like _being lied to.

"No," He repeated, squeezing the smaller man's hips. "No."

_Fuck this. _Viserys thought exasperatedly. He just wanted to go home, and the fastest way was to please the Khal. He realized now that it'd been foolish of him to expect the Khal to lay with some Dothraki woman instead of him after the wedding. After all, why would he push so hard, for an entire week nonetheless, to wed him if he didn't expect…?

"Ah!" Viserys yelped in surprise when he felt the Dothraki's hand slip inside his breeches and close firmly around the base of his manhood. "I…!"

"No?"

"No!" The younger man shouted, shoving him away. "_No._"

He needed the Khal to stop _touching _him. To stop _kissing _him. It was infuriating. Worse, it was _confusing. _The Khal took a step back, frowning. For a brief moment, Viserys thought he'd managed to convince him to leave him alone, but soon realized this was not the case. Instead of getting angry, the Khal smiled slightly, amused by his prince's stubbornness. Viserys's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Stop looking at me like that." He commanded. "I don't appreciate you _leering _–"

Drogo was suddenly kissing him again, silencing Viserys's reprimanding, his hands on both sides of his face. But his mouth was much softer this time. Viserys's lips throbbed upon contact, but he soon found it was definitely preferable to the brutal kissing he'd been forced to endure a just few moments ago. Uncertain of what he should do, Viserys's hands were shaking as they detached themselves from his sides to grasp his husband's forearms, sighing and forcing himself to relax.

_If this is what I must do… _He thought resignedly. _… Then this is what I must do._

Encouraged, the Khal's tongue begged passage into Viserys's mouth, and trying not to sigh again, he opened his lips and allowed his soon-to-be lover to deepen their kiss. When the larger man's hands found themselves down his breeches again, Viserys shuddered, but did not push him away. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Affazolat  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Game of Thrones AU**  
>Pairing(s): <strong>Drogo/Viserys, Jorah/Daenerys, with hints/implications of Viserys/Daenerys.**  
>Summary: <strong>What would happen if, when Daenerys was presented to Khal Drogo in Pentos, the Dothraki warlord decided he'd rather have the Targaryen Prince instead? Drogo/Viserys, slash, AU.**  
>RatingWarning: **Bumped to an M+! (Possibly nearing an 'over 18' level… possibly.)  
>Sexual content in this chapter! Dub-con, angst, implied incest and graphic descriptions of torture.<strong><br>Timeline: **AU Season 1 of Game of Thrones.**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own GoT, it belongs to George R. R. Martin. I'm just playing with the characters for my sick entertainment, and obviously, no profit is being made from this story!**  
>Author's Note: <strong>Quicker update this time! Not sure when the next chapter will be updated… hopefully as soon as possible! Thanks to all who reviewed… in regards to your questions, they _should _be answered throughout the duration of the story, if not and you still have questions before the Epilogue, I will be glad to answer them in the Author's Note at the end. But that's a little while off yet. Hope you enjoy the update!  
>(By the way, in case you didn't read the Warnings section, this chapter contains a bit of dub-conborderline rape, so it might be wise to skim read over the first few paragraphs if that sort of thing disturbs you.)

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

**Chapter 3**

Their first act of lovemaking was every bit as painful and degrading as Viserys had feared it would be. Every inch of him hurt – quite literally, every inch. He hurt and throbbed in places of his body he didn't even know the names of. He was just thankful nobody else beared witness to the humiliating display. Illyrio told him that sometimes the _consummation _was performed with the witness of the entire tribe, and Viserys had been momentarily relieved that it was not what the Khal had in mind.

It started off well enough. Drogo certainly knew how to pleasure someone, and once Viserys let go and allowed himself to truly feel and enjoy it all, he was _hard_ and _flushed_ and _needy_ and actually _wanted _what his husband promised with every touch and every kiss upon his skin. The Khal brought his release with his hand, and as Viserys lay against the grass, weak in the knees and panting, he was unceremoniously flipped onto his stomach and felt the tip of the Dothraki's manhood against his entrance.

Viserys gasped in agony as Drogo used water from the brook to help guide himself into the smaller man, in an attempt to make it slightly less painful for him. The prince fisted the grass so hard he broke the green blades and the skin covering his knuckles turned white. The Khal started off slow, with deep, penetrating, purposeful thrusts, and every one brought unimaginable pain for Viserys. He felt no pleasure at all anymore.

Tears welled up in his eyes as the Khal's pace quickened into an animalistic rhythm. He felt like he was being split in two. Viserys hated himself for it later, but at one point, he'd _begged _the Khal to stop hurting him, but whether or not Drogo understood him or even cared, he did not know. The prince braced himself on his forearms against the grass and tried in vain to ignore the waves of anguish that crashed over him, until finally, Drogo groaned, low and guttural, and filled him with his hot seed.

He removed himself from Viserys and the smaller man collapsed in relief in a heap on the grass, coated in a fine sheen of sweat, both his and the Khal's. Viserys stayed in his position as the Khal re-dressed, wishing death upon his spouse in the most hateful, torturous ways possible. Everything he'd experienced in his life; the beatings from his various hosts, the cruel jibes from those who deemed him the "Beggar Prince" for selling Targaryen crown jewels so that he and Daenerys could eat when they weren't being put up with by some wealthy Lord or Magister looking to gain favour with the Targaryens… none of it compared to the utter shame and defeat he felt over what he'd just endured, and insanely began to wonder if the Iron Throne was worth putting up with such atrocity. He was beyond mortified. There was no word for how violated he felt.

He felt the Khal kneel beside him, and his fingers reached out to brush Viserys's silvery hair from his eyes. He flinched at the contact, and pulled away, forcing himself to his feet.

"Don't touch me!" Viserys hissed venomously, stumbling away from him, his rear throbbing in protest at the sudden movements. "Don't _ever_ touch me again!"

Drogo watched him for a few moments, stoic and emotionless as always, and stood up and walked over to his stallion. He waited patiently as Viserys pulled himself together, dressed, and with more effort than he thought he currently possessed, pulled himself onto his horse. The Khal rode ahead of them once again, but Viserys remained further back than he had been before, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the savage as he possibly could.

Back at the camp, majority of the Dothraki had gone to sleep for the night in their makeshift tents. Drogo rode off to meet his blood riders, who greeted him enthusiastically and cast mocking glances at his sore and tired consort. Viserys didn't have enough energy to sneer at their undoubtedly disparaging remarks. Drogo barked an order at them, and they all set off for a night's ride.

_Good, _Viserys thought. _Don't come back._

Illyrio and Daenerys were nowhere in sight, but to Viserys's genuine surprise, he was greeted and helped off his horse by Jorah Mormont, the newly-pledged knight in his service. Mormont's eyes were understanding and sympathetic, and held no malicious intent.

"I don't want to do that again." Viserys told him as he was half-dragged back to what he assumed was his tent.

"I know, your Grace." Mormont replied, and said no more.

He left Viserys to his misery in the comfort and seclusion of his tent. He rested on the bedding and was grateful for the chance to relax, finally. The wedding was over, he reminded himself. More importantly the wedding _night _was over. The Khal had had his fill of him tonight, and would likely not return until tomorrow to sleep. But without a doubt, Viserys knew he would be forced to endure it again, night after night after night until he was sitting firmly on the Iron Throne and had the power to execute the Khal.

He would die, slowly, and painfully. He would regret choosing him over Daenerys, Viserys would make damn sure of it.

The dragon prince's solitary, internal grievances were soon interrupted with the presence of his sister. She sat beside him, light as a feather, and rested her hand on his arm comfortingly. From her touch, Viserys did not flinch away. She wasn't going to degrade and harm him. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't. But Daenerys didn't have a grain of cruelness in her and wouldn't, even if she could.

Sometimes, Viserys envied her. Her trusting and loving nature, her easy smiles, her _innocence_… and to his mortification, he realized that had almost damned his younger, naive sister to what he'd just suffered. He found himself opening his mouth to apologize to her, and stopped before he could get the words out, pressing his lips together to stop himself from showing anymore weakness that evening than he already had.

Relieved that he had not screamed at her to leave him be, Daenerys positioned herself beside Viserys, and nestled into his side, something she had not done since they were both much, much younger. He made no move to embrace her as he once had, but he did not push her away, either.

"Tell me about the Seven Kingdoms," Dany begged softly. "And what you're going to do when you win the Iron Throne from the Usurper."

It was a tale and plan he'd regaled many, many times before. Normally, Viserys hated to repeat himself, but the story of how the Seven Kingdoms and Westeros came to be was one he could recite over and over again. The thought of how a land with such grand history would someday be his to rule and command both excited and comforted him. It was as if talking about a day when all this madness with the Dothraki was gone and forgotten was exactly what Viserys needed, and Daenerys knew it. He needed to be reminded of what it was he was fighting for.

She nodded and smiled when it was appropriate as he told her of how they were going to conquer and kill all those who stood with the Usurper with their mighty Dothraki horde. In a softer whisper, with more embellishment that should've frightened her but didn't, he told her of what he had intended for his husband_._

"A head fit for a spike, I believe." Viserys said. "I'll have that braid of his cut off and shoved down his throat to choke on, and once he's dead, I'll have him beheaded, and put on display for all of King's Landing to see. The dogs can have his body after that." Perhaps he could find creative uses for the royal sceptre (that would bear the three heads of the dragon) while the Khal choked, but he did not tell that part to Daenerys.

"And then we will marry?"

"Yes." Viserys nodded. "And then we'll get married. You will be my queen, Daenerys, and you will bear my heir and all our other children after him, just as father had intended for us."

And it was true. Viserys was told later after Daenerys was born that she was always meant to be his bride, even when their father still reigned. Rhaegar had married outside of the family, but it was Viserys and Daenerys who would have been expected to keep their bloodline pure and untainted by outside influence.

Thinking and talking of the past caused Viserys to shift uncomfortably. Daenerys was unaffected, since she had no memories of the time their family ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but he had both too many, and not enough. He shuddered to think of what his father would think of him if he could see what had become of his youngest son.

The Targaryens slept side-by-side until early dawn, before the sun rose in the sky. Jorah Mormont made another appearance, and bowed respectfully as the siblings opened their eyes and acknowledged him.

"Pardon the intrusion, your Grace," Mormont apologized. "But it would seem your husband has returned from his ride, and may wish to… sleep beside his consort." He turned his gaze to Daenerys. "So I fear you must come with me now, princess, and leave your brother and the Khal be."

Fear paralysed Viserys instantly. He didn't want Daenerys or Jorah to leave him alone with the beast he married, but he made no move to stop either of them as his sister got up and scurried out of sight, Jorah close behind her. Soon afterwards, the Khal appeared, naked, in the entrance of the tent, and their eyes met. Viserys shrunk beneath his penetrating gaze and willed the bed to swallow him whole.

Before the prince could open his mouth and say something, the Khal approached him, flipped him onto his stomach forcefully, and once more, Viserys was taken from behind like a dog would take his bitch.

Life got no easier for the dragon prince in the weeks that followed. Every day was a session of on-going, never-ending torture. The constant riding he was not accustomed to soon took its toll on him; he was constantly dirty, tired and weather-beaten from riding against the wind, his legs chafed bloody and raw, and he was only granted a few hours of peaceful sleep in the night before the Khal would come to him at dawn and fuck him until he'd had enough. Drogo would collapse beside him afterwards and sleep soundly, while Viserys lay awake, weak and utterly drained but unable to fall back asleep himself.

At more than one point, it almost became too much to bear.

_Have I not suffered enough? _Viserys wondered as Jorah and Daenerys helped him from his silver mare. _Have I not been ridiculed enough? I've lost everything, and gained almost nothing in return._

Except for a sore arse and more bruises and sores than he cared to count.

More than once he contemplated waiting until Khal Drogo fell asleep, and then escaping with Daenerys and possibly Mormont on horseback to a nearby port to board a ship and get as far away from the Dothraki as possible and never think about them again. But Viserys would remind himself that Robert Baratheon still sat upon the Iron Throne, the throne that was rightfully his, and that this was the closest he'd ever been in seventeen years to retaking the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn't give up now. Or else it had all been for nothing.

But things needed to change, and soon. With each passing day Viserys grew less and less hopeful of Khal Drogo maintaining his end of the bargain, and he _would not _stand for it. He would get what was promised to him, he would make damn sure of it. He sought the advice of Jorah Mormont, uncertain of what else to do.

"I would counsel patience, your Grace," He told him. "Khal Drogo will keep the end of his bargain, once the Dothraki omens favour war."

Viserys muttered something derogatory under his breath. "Is there any way I could possibly… bring those omens on faster?" He hoped Mormont would understand what he was trying to convey.

Mormont paused for a few moments, and sighed deeply. "Perhaps I'm not the one you should be asking."

"Well, please, _Ser Jorah,_" Viserys snapped scathingly. "Direct me towards someone I should be asking instead. I would be _very_ grateful."

Despite his cutting tone, Mormont remained patient. "Ask one of the women around the camp. Better yet, take your personal knowledge and experience from other sexual encounters you may have had and apply it when you need it." He was being deliberately vague, clearly not desiring to have a conversation with Viserys about his intimacy with Khal Drogo, but his obvious advice was helpful nonetheless.

_Take what you know… and apply it when you need it. _

The dragon prince thought long and hard about his previous sexual encounters. He'd only ever had women before in his experience, and half of them he could barely remember because he was either intoxicated at the time or they simply weren't memorable enough, but the more he thought about it, the more the solution became apparent to him. He distinctly remembered the third… maybe fourth woman he'd had sex with preferred to dominate rather than submit to him. She'd been suave, slow and seductive and used what she had to tease and torture him throughout. Her name and face were not as memorable as her actions, but they didn't need to be.

So the solution to his problem was to… torture the Khal? Dominate him? The thought was almost ludicrous, but then it occurred to him that outside, with the horde of savages, he was the mighty Khal, but in the privacy of their tent he was like any other man with the same basic, primal needs and desires. The thought of torturing the Khal appealed to him more than it should have. He would not suffer the same way Viserys had been suffering, and it was not the same torture methods he would've preferred, but it would be torment for him nonetheless.

**X-X-X**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Affazolat  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Game of Thrones AU**  
>Pairing(s): <strong>Drogo/Viserys, Jorah/Daenerys, with hints/implications of Viserys/Daenerys.**  
>Summary: <strong>What would happen if, when Daenerys was presented to Khal Drogo in Pentos, the Dothraki warlord decided he'd rather have the Targaryen Prince instead? Drogo/Viserys, slash, AU.**  
>RatingWarning: **Bumped to an M+! (Definitely a 18+ level now.)  
>Sexual content in this chapter! Dub-con, angst, implied incest and graphic descriptions of torture.<strong><br>Timeline: **AU Season 1 of Game of Thrones.**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own GoT, it belongs to George R. R. Martin. I'm just playing with the characters for my sick entertainment, and obviously, no profit is being made from this story!**  
>Author's Note: <strong>Sorry for the late update, guys! I got the worst writer's block around the beginning of the chapter and that didn't exactly make for the greatest start -_- so once more, I'm very sorry for the huge delay!

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

When the Khal came to him that evening, it was late but still earlier than his usual visits. He seemed mildly surprised to find Viserys sitting up waiting for him rather than having to wake the smaller man from his slumber to have his way with him. Up until that point, Viserys had strangely spent most of the evening staring at his dragon's eggs, his brows furrowed deeply. He wasn't entirely certain of why, but looking at the coloured fossils brought him a warmth beggaring description. Dead as dead they might've been, but they were once dragons. The irony perhaps was that to a degree Viserys felt as though he were similar to them in that way.

'_Once mighty dragons with the potential to grow and thrive, fierce and strong, now reduced to nothing,' _He thought, his fingers sliding over the smooth surface of the crimson egg. _'But I am not dead. I am dormant. The dragon will rise again.'_

Viserys forced himself not to flinch when he saw that Khal Drogo was already naked and... eager. He braced himself, hissing in anticipation of pain of some sort as he approached. But he felt some kind of resolve renew inside of him, and instead of flinching away like a coward when his husband approached, he stood his ground (figuratively speaking, given he sitting on a bed of furs) and looked him in the eye.

Drogo didn't seem all that impressed with the defiance, however. He went to grab the smaller man's hips, but Viserys slapped his hands away. "No."

Ignoring him, the Khal tried again, and met the same resistance. "I said _no, _oaf."

The older man growled and his next attempt was much rougher; Viserys rose up, and in one fluid motion, grabbed the Khal by his shoulders, pushed him onto his back, and flipped one leg over his waist to straddle his hips. As Viserys looked at him, he wondered if Dothraki knew how to react to this sort of assertiveness. He'd seen nothing but blind submission from the females, and there were no other male-exclusive relationship existed in Drogo's khalasar, but judging from the look on his husband's face, this wasn't a common occurrence.

_Good._

"I said…" he repeated, his face close to Drogo's, "_no. _I'm not your bitch, horselord. I'm nobody's bitch. I'm Viserys of the House Targaryen, rightful king of Westeros," very slowly, almost agonizingly, Viserys began rolling his hips, creating friction between Viserys' clothed groin and Drogo's exposed, hardened member. Viserys watched the Khal's face very closely, and found triumph in the way his lips parted and his eyes widened ever-so-slightly.

"You do not _force me on my knees,_" he continued, his hands braced against Drogo's broad chest, "or take me from behind like an animal. I am not your plaything, nor your whore," he quickened the motion he was doing with his hips, grinding against the other man, "I am Viserys Targaryen…"

Drogo shot up suddenly, but instead of flipping Viserys on his back and totally nullifying everything he'd just said, he allowed Viserys to stay where he was, and instead settled with wrapping his arms around the younger man's slender frame, holding him close and watching him, just… looking. Admittedly, for a moment or two there, Viserys had felt the breath catch in his throat, and as he looked into Drogo's eyes, his lips just inches away, he finished his sentence, soft, and slightly breathless, surprising himself entirely, "… and I want to be treated with respect."

Khal Drogo, as if he understood, kissed him.

Life became much easier for Viserys Targaryen after that. It was safe for him to say his plan had succeeded. Drogo's blood riders and other members of the khalasar still mocked him, but Viserys would only smile venomously at their indistinguishable jibes with the knowledge that he practically had their mighty Drogo eating out of the palm of his hand night after night.

And it was true – to Viserys's astonishment, sex with the Khal was no longer was painful as it had been the first time – he blatantly refused to acknowledge it as being _pleasurable, _but the more pleasant and less agonizing it was, the easier everything was for him. On more than one occasion in the weeks that followed, Viserys was sorely tempted to bring up the unresolved matter of gaining the Iron Throne, and once, Viserys had finally managed to bring it up, but the Khal had brushed his questions aside, hastily pulling at his clothes, his mind clearly on _something else_. Viserys had seethed silently all evening, allowing the Khal a few more days of buttering up before he attempted again.

In the mean time, however, Viserys decided it was time for him to teach the Khal to speak and understand some of the common tongue beyond the words "no", "yes" and _"don't stop". _ In exchange, he deemed it fruitful to learn a little Dothraki tongue in exchange. He would need to learn how to command the screamers his husband would provide for him, after all.

He sat across from Drogo in their tent one evening, perched on a small cushion. To begin with, Viserys was attempting to teach the Khal how to pronounce his name correctly, rather than being forced to endure being called "_zhavvorsa khalakka_" for the rest of their forsaken union. Unfortunately for Viserys, the Khal was not in a studious mood. The younger man had to constantly push the eager hands of his husband away from the belt of his pants, hissing in annoyance when Drogo buried his face in the hollow of his neck.

"Away, you hulking monstrosity." Viserys snapped, using both of his hands to scramble for purchase against the Khal's massive body. Gripping onto his shoulders, he gave him a firm push backwards – not hard enough to signal violent resistance, however. Khal Drogo made a frustrated noise, and looked him in the eye.

Viserys stared him down, his mouth twisted into a scowl. "Vis-air-iss. Say it after me."

The corner of the Khal's mouth picked up in a challenging smirk.

"_Zhavvorsa khalakka," _he said, and tried to kiss Viserys again.

Said dragon prince silently cursed him to all seven hells and pushed him back once more. "Now you're deliberately trying to piss me off. I get laughed at by your _khalasar _every day, by your bloodriders, I have to travel a _long _way on horseback through muck and filth, and then at nights when I am tired and sore from riding I have to endure you fucking me constantly. The least you can do – _the very least _– is call me by my name."

Viserys wasn't sure if the Khal understood him word-for-word or not, but the vehemence in his voice was enough to make Drogo sit back for a few moments, frowning to himself. The Khal raised his hand, and Viserys flinched, thinking he was going to hit him. Stunned, he watched with wide eyes as Drogo touched the bottom of his chin, tilting his head up to force the dragon prince to look him directly in the eye. Viserys met his gaze with fiery defiance, but being in such a vulnerable position around this menacing man never ceased to be intimidating.

Khal Drogo smiled at him again, but this smile veiled no ridicule. "Vee-sar-ees."

Viserys blinked twice in surprise. "I… close. _Viserys._ Vis-air-iss."

The frown stayed on the older man's face as he tried to wrap his tongue around the foreign pronunciation. "Vi-sar-es."

The younger man licked his teeth impatiently. Resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, he leaned forward and placed a firm hand on his husband's crotch, looking at his face to gauge the effects of doing so. The Khal's eyes tightened, and the apple in his throat bobbed. With some effort, Viserys managed to keep the smug smile off his face, and leaned in close, his lips ghosting over the Khal's, close enough to touch but not enough to kiss.

"Vis… air… iss," he breathed, his unblinking eyes vibrant. He squeezed, and the Khal made a noise in the back of his throat. With some effort, he managed a very rough but relatively correct pronunciation of his name, and Viserys decided that for tonight, that was enough, and allowed the Khal to kiss him.

Before they'd even pulled back to take a breath, outside of the tent, somewhere in the night, a woman began to scream. Viserys stopped suddenly, frowning as he recognized the voice. Alarmed, he scrambled to get away from Khal Drogo.

"_Daenerys!"_


End file.
